Kincaid was driving through the night, determined to reach his destination within the hour. A lorry driver by trade, his ten wheeler had a special cargo tied down behind the modern cab.

“Whoever buys that cabinet must be stark raving mad.”

The nineteenth century cabinet was indeed expensive. Made from maple wood, the owner of ‘Times of old’ at Foxley had been lucky to acquire it at the auction.

As the truck approached from the Southside, the driver spotted someone standing in the middle of the dark road.

“What a nutter,” the driver muttered as he slowed down.

Through the glare of the brilliant headlights. He saw the woman hitchhiker walking around to the passenger side. As he opened the door, she stood there smiling.

“Can I have a lift mate?”

“Where are you going at this time of night?”

“The Crown Hotel at Foxley. I won’t be any trouble.”

“Hop in then.”

The woman was around twenty-five and dressed in a long heavy coat. A backpack was firmly clamped to her shoulders as she seated herself.

“You are pretty lucky my dear. I don’t usually pick up hitchhikers.”

The woman smiled.

A year had now passed since the battle and the town had finally pulled itself together. Baker Farm had gone of course. In its place fast growing trees had been planted, which restored the rugged nature of the hill.

At the police station, the new DI and his sergeant had been lumbered with a short military type from military intelligence.

The DI was a heavyset drinking man whilst his sidekick was a tall, slim teetotaller. Something his boss could never understand.

“Seems quiet this morning Andrew,” the DI said casually.

“A bit too quiet sir.”

As if on cue, the door swung open and an officer poked his head through.

“Something’s up on southside Road sir.”

“Get Peters will you? He might just be interested.”
When the panda car drew up, DI Holland walked over to the stationary lorry as the forensic team picked it over.

“What do we have here doc?”

The flustered medic gazed up.

“A strange one this Holland. The poor chap has been garrotted.”

Doc Peters strolled up and asked, “Mind if I take a peek?”

“Be my guest.”

Peters gazed into the cab at the body of the driver. A piano wire was wrapped around his bloodied throat so tightly, that the material had embedded itself into the flesh.

“Reminds me of a mafia hit,” Peters commented.

DI Holland coughed.

“Not around here chap. What do you think doc?”

“He certainly didn’t do this to himself Holland. Look for a strong bloke of medium height.”

Peters scanned the interior and saw dirt upon the carpet. As he leaned over to get closer, a strong whiff of perfume assaulted his nose.

“You better let the forensic boys check that out,” the DI said. “Don’t want to tread on their toes now.”

Peters gave him a strange look as he sniffed at the corpse.

“You remind me of a dog,” the medic joked.

“Woof.”

Everyone laughed as Peters walked off. Recognising the stance, the DI wandered over.

“I see that you are not satisfied.”

Peters lowered his voice an octave.

“When was the last time that a lorry driver wore female perfume?”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely mate. Parisian I think. What’s in the rear?”

“Let’s take a look shall we?”

Forensic had already opened it and looking inside they saw the cabinet.

“Must be for that antiques place,” the DI said softly.

Peters shook his head.

“That rules out robbery as a motive then.”

“Seems likely,” the DI commented.

As they left the scene Peters said, “I need a word with the shop owner. We may learn something there.”

As they climbed into the car, the sergeant raised his eyebrows.

“A right bloodhound eh?”

From the rear, a human dog barked.
 
Ep 2

“Where are you staying?” Andrew asked.

“Grig Street,” Peters replied.

“Where those bedsits are?”

“I live in one of those sergeant.”

“Poor sod.”

“We are nearly there,” the DI said as the car drew into the street.

Stepping out, they saw the grey haired owner sweeping the front door. He glanced up as they approached.

“Hello Holland. Didn’t expect to see you today.”

“Can we have a word inside?” the DI said softly.

They were led into the shop, as Peters gazed around at the expensive objects and the heavy rear desk.

“Do you sell much?” Peters asked fingering a small model Egyptian sarcophagus.

“Once in a while. Take care with that though. It’s genuine.”

Peters put it down gently as the owner waited.

“We found your cabinet sir,” he said quietly. “Sadly it cost the driver his life.”

The owner was shocked.

“What happened to him?”

“A case of piano wire,” the DI replied.

“What a world we live in eh? What do you want to know?”

“Did you have a buyer for it?” Peters asked.

The owner shook his head.

“I intended to keep it here. One thing I can tell you though. Someone would have bought it.”

Peters nodded and strolled outside.

“Learn anything?” the DI asked.

“Not a bit. That is one link is truly broken.”

As darkness fell, the report landed upon the DI’s desk. As he read it, his face fell.

“According to this, there was no one else in that truck. No secondary DNA was recovered.”

“How is that possible?” the sergeant asked.

“It ain’t,” Peters muttered. “Not unless the killer was invisible.”
 
Ep 3

Across town, the young man was nearing the end of his shift. A deliveryman for the town’s only fast food joint, he was hoping to get away on time. As usual though, the customers decided otherwise.

“We have taken a pizza order for the Southside.”

“Who lives there? Nothing but warehouses.”

”Apparently the woman’s car has broken down and she is famished. Here are the details.”

He took the note and the box and wandered out to his waiting moped. Placing the pizza within the rear, red box, he started the long journey towards his last customer.

As he at last drew up, he spotted the woman with her backpack standing by the warehouse entrance. Smiling to himself, he padded over to her.

“Where’s the car then?”

The woman smiled.

“Pick up took it. Thanks for the pizza.”

He waited for the payment to arrive, as she took the box.

“That’ll be a fiver mam.”

The woman tossed the food to the ground and stepped toward him suddenly. Before he could react, the piano wire had throttled the life out of him.

The DI was just about done when the call came through. Grabbing his coat, his team raced to the car and headed for the latest crime scene.

The doc was none too pleased at their arrival.

“The young man stood no chance Holland. Whoever did this was standing directly in front of him.”

Peters examined the wire, noting again the severity of the injury. As he knelt, he breathed in the erotic female odour.

“More perfume?” the DI asked.

“Same as before. The killer is certainly female.”

“Poppycock,” the annoyed doc muttered. “She wouldn’t be strong enough.”

“I’ll be proved right in the end mate,” Peters assured him. “Anything else?”

The forensic officer wandered over.

“We are still checking but so far nothing.”

Peters rubbed his hair.

“Something very strange going on here. Shoes always leave some trace.”

“I tend to agree mate,” the DI said. “What would you suggest now?”

“Perhaps we are looking in the wrong place you know. Any open investigations?”

“DI Nixon was fairly hot on closing cases. My sergeant will check for you.”

Back at the station, Andrew returned with one slim file.

“Only this one sir. Dated five years ago.”

The file was opened and the officer read it aloud.

“So a female backpacker was murdered on Southside Road eh?” Peters muttered.

“Young woman too,” the sergeant commented.

“Did they get the killer?”

“According to this no. Nixon has even left a note attached.”

Peters took it and read the single line.

No witnesses, no suspect!

Peters handed it back.

“Perhaps an appeal for information will still help.”

“After five years?” the DI asked. “DI Nixon was damn good at his job. He would have tried that.”

“People have strange memories you know,” Peters told him. “Something that seems trivial then, turns out to be a case breaker later on.”

The sergeant shrugged his shoulders.

“Worth a try I suppose.”

This line of reasoning completely baffled the DI.

“What about these killings? Who’s going to investigate those?”

Peters smiled.

“We are investigating them. There is a link.”

With that strange statement, the DI left to make a press statement as his colleagues waited.

There had been little response to the new appeal by dawn however, and they decided to call it a day. As they were leaving, a nervous thirty year old waylaid them outside.

“Can I have a word?”

The DI recognised one of the street girls. An old timer shall we say.

“Not now Jennifer. Rather a long day you know.”

“I heard the radio appeal earlier.”

“Why come now?” the sergeant asked suspiciously.

“Fear mainly.”

“So what can you tell us?”

“I was working in Southside then after the cops moved me on. I did see that lovely woman trying to flag down cars without much success. So I decided to give her a hand.”

“You kept this a little quiet,” the DI hissed.

“You’ll find out why.”

She paused for effect.

“As I was saying, I decided to help see. So I lift my ruddy dress to my thighs exposing you know what and this posh car draws up.”

“Then what happened?” the sergeant asked.

“The woman thanked me and climbed inside. Next day I saw in the paper what had happened.”

“What type of car was it?” Peters asked.

The woman smiled.

“A Bentley sir. That judge was driving it.”

This was shattering news indeed.

“How do you know that?” the DI demanded.

“He done me the year before for prostitution. Judge Nelson was his name.”

The colleagues just stared at each other.

“Will you repeat that in court?” the DI asked. “If you do, I’ll see to it the officers never arrest you again.”

The woman smiled.

“That’s an offer that I really want. Ta.”

They climbed into the car and waited a moment.

“That explains the ash deposit that forensic found on her,” the DI muttered. “It came from his ruddy cigar.”

“Is he still practising?” Peters asked.

The DI shook his head.

“Retired last year. He lives in one of those posh homes on Bridge Lane.”

“We better go and get him then,” the sergeant muttered.

The home was indeed a posh one and the old judge was none too pleased at the early call.

“What is this about detective? My ill wife is in bed you know.”

“We really need to talk inside sir,” the DI said gently.

They found themselves inside a large sitting room, done out in the latest fashions. As the judge turned, the DI laid the whole case before him.

They watched as his face turned ashen.

“I eh, never actually meant to kill her you know. She asked me for money you see. I just panicked.”

“Where did you get the piano wire?” Peters asked coldly.

“From my own. I had one in those days. It was in my dash locker waiting to be replaced. It broke you see.”

The DI nodded but hated the suspect none the less. In a solemn voice, he read out the charge. As the sergeant led him to the car, the DI took Peters aside.

“At least we got the right one. So how do we solve the two latest murders?”

Peters smiled gently and whispered, “They are solved Holland. She came back for revenge you see. Now that her killer has been caught, the killings will stop.”

The DI was rather nonplussed by this incredible assertion but decided not to press the point.

After all, he could well be right.